


5. The Eeyore Impression

by sahiya



Series: Five Times Someone Took Care of Neal and One Time He Did the Care-Taking [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Peter's arrest, Neal blamed himself, and so it followed - in his mind, at least - that everyone else would, too. Only that wasn’t what happened at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5. The Eeyore Impression

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Angelita!

Neal expected a lot of recrimination in the wake of Peter’s arrest. It was his father who’d actually committed the murder Peter was in prison for, after all. Neal should’ve known better than to trust James; he should know when he was being conned. But he’d wanted so much to believe, even though he knew that conning someone was never easier than when you were telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. 

In short, Neal blamed himself, and so it followed - in his mind, at least - that everyone else would, too. 

Only that wasn’t what happened at all. 

At first, he was too in shock from everything to notice; he’d had plans go pear-shaped before, but never as badly as this. Of all the things he thought might go wrong, this one had never occurred to him. He was almost too shocked to lie convincingly when Callaway dragged him in for questioning, though he at least had the presence of mind to make sure Diana got the evidence box before Callaway did. He barely noticed when a cup of coffee appeared, unasked for, at his elbow, or when Blake came back from a food run with a sandwich for him, even though no one had asked Neal what he’d wanted and he’d assumed he’d be left to live out of the vending machine for the time being. He thought it was reflex; they were used to being nice to him, and so they were doing it out of habit. But eventually they’d realize who was really responsible for Peter’s arrest, and the kindnesses would stop. 

But days melted into weeks, and they didn’t. Bancroft arrived to try and sort through the mess, Callaway “left to pursue other opportunities,” and still Diana picked him up every morning, and Jones took him home every night. Even Peter hadn’t done that. One of them dragged him to lunch every day, and when he finally - _finally_ \- got permission to see Peter in prison, it was Diana who drove him. 

It was torture. Every kindness was a reminder of what he’d done. Peter’s career had been exemplary before Neal had come along; the Peter Burke of old would have never been put in a position of being arrested for murder. The only thing that had changed was Neal. This had to be obvious to everyone, but they just kept being so damn _nice_ to him, and Neal didn't know what to do. There had to be a reason, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out.

“It’s too late to head back to the office,” Diana said, after they emerged from the prison after visiting Peter for the first time. “You want to grab some dinner? I think Jones said he was going to try a new Thai place in his neighborhood.”

Neal suddenly couldn’t stand it. Peter had joked with him about orange uniforms and role reversals, but seeing him like that had shaken Neal deeply, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t want to go to dinner,” he said bluntly. “Stop pretending, all right? You don’t have to.”

“Pretending?” Diana said, frowning at him. “What the hell are you talking about, Caffrey?”

“Stop pretending to - to _like_ me,” Neal said. “Peter’s in prison and it’s my fault, I know that. You and Jones don’t have to pretend you don’t.”

Diana looked at him. “Caffrey, use your head. Does that sound at all like me? Do you really think that if I was pissed at you, you wouldn’t know it?”

Neal had to admit that that did not, in fact, sound much like Diana. “But -”

“Don’t start,” Diana said. “Get in the car. We’re meeting Jones for dinner.”

It was precisely the wrong time of day to be on the road in Manhattan. They crept toward Jones’s neighborhood in silence. Neal thought about Peter and tried to ignore the sick feeling he got whenever he remembered how he’d looked: pale from too much time indoors, unshaven, tired. It might be better, he thought, if they’d thrown him back in prison, too. At least then he could feel like he was doing some sort of penance for his sins. But Bancroft, for some reason, hadn’t made that call. Neal wasn’t sure why. He knew he should feel lucky, but he had a hard time these days feeling anything but guilty. 

Jones was waiting for them at the restaurant. Neal sat down at the table and looked at the menu. He loved Thai food, but his appetite, intermittent at best the last couple of weeks, seemed to have fled altogether. But his attempt to skip dinner in favor of wine was immediately put paid to by Diana, who glared at him until he ordered green curry with chicken.

“How’s Peter?” Jones asked, after their server had left with the menus. 

“Hanging in there,” Diana said with a sigh. “I wish I’d had better news to bring him.”

“Yeah,” Jones said. “I checked in with the Marshals. Still no sign of Bennett. But we’ll find him.”

Even Jones didn’t sound like he really believed himself. Neal thought about pointing out what the odds were at this point. But Jones and Diana already knew; they didn’t need his reality check. 

Their food arrived. Neal poked at his, eating a bite here or there to please Diana. But he was tired - tired of feeling guilty, tired of their pity, tired of having to exist in the world when Peter was in prison. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Diana said abruptly, halfway through the meal. Neal looked up in surprise to find her glaring at him. 

“Di -” Jones said.

“No,” she said, flatly. “We’ve been putting up with Caffrey’s Eeyore impression for weeks now, and I’m over it. He thinks we’re secretly mad at him, by the way,” she added, with a roll of her eyes. “But we’re being nice to him because - well, actually, he wasn’t clear on that part. Probably because _it makes no sense._ ”

Jones frowned at him. “Why would you think that?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I think that?” Neal replied, suddenly annoyed. “Peter’s in prison and it’s my fault.”

“It really isn’t,” Jones said. 

“It really is,” Neal insisted. “If it weren’t for me, Peter would’ve never been after that evidence box, and he wouldn’t be in prison now.”

“And a corrupt senator would still be out there,” Diana said. “You’re taking an awful lot of credit here, Caffrey. Peter’s a grown man and a good agent. He knew what he was doing and what he was risking. And I bet if you asked him, even now, he’d say he’d do it all over again.”

Neal looked down at his plate. “I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “Not if I knew what would happen.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Diana sighed. “I get that,” she said. “And if you want to blame yourself for what happened, go ahead - but you won’t get any help from either of us.”

Neal didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, it didn’t really help - nothing was going to help, he thought, until Peter was free. On the other hand, he’d have been lying if he’d said it didn’t make him feel just the slightest bit better to know that they really didn’t blame him. 

Neal cleared his throat. “I never thought you’d pass up the chance to be less nice to me,” he said to Diana. 

“Don’t press your luck,” she said, and reached over to steal a piece of his chicken. “I can always change my mind.”

 _But you won’t_ , Neal thought, and against all odds, felt better.


End file.
